banding together, or falling apart
by darroth42
Summary: When Harry Dresden died, everything broke down at once. It was as if he was the only thing holding the darkness back. But when everything hits the fan, you'd be suprised at the kind of people who come along to clean the mess up. OC at first, but i'll work in the others. After the end of changes, before Ghost stories.
1. Chapter 1

Hey, I read the Dresden files, and I'm now amazingly frustrated every time I ever say harry and get "potter" as a response. But anyway, since I don't sleep, I wrote this! Tell me how it should go. Contact me somehow, no follow-through necessary here. I'm just fishing for ideas. Anyway, I want this to take place after changes, but before ghost stories. The idea is that trouble brings out all kinds of people, and I wanted to explore the idea. Hey, maybe it'll be a flop, maybe it'll be a good idea, but I just like writing. Anyway, here's the story.

…

I like to think I'm an optimist. Distractible I may be, and I'm not the smartest man you'll ever know, and I'm not a tough guy or anything like one, and I tend to ramble a bit as you can see, but one thing that can be said for me, I've always been able to see the silver lining, and things never really seem as hopeless to me as they seem to for everyone else.

That said, things suck right now, I know that. The world gets darker every day, the dawn seems to take longer and longer to rise each morning, and nobody seems to care. Cops are being paid to look the other way by things, things that are not even human, (not all the way at least, I'm sure of it.) The things that go bump in the night have stopped being so subtle, and now go "bang bump clang growl snarl", before simply roaring down the streets. Things so many have simply dismissed as non-existent now openly hunt people in Chicago, and it's terrifying. If I wasn't already an insomniac, I wouldn't sleep anyway because of the nightmares I'd have. And worst of all, the one man in the city who knew how to handle all of it, the one man in the city who protected everyone and somehow looked amazingly cool doing it, is missing. I can't say missing in action, because in all likelihood, he's not missing any action, regardless of whether he's living or dead.

I'm very aware that I know people who should be arrested, or at least given a good old fashioned lecture, but those are the people who are doing the most good, giving me a conflict of ethics, not to mention an aching headache. But these friends of mine (for that's what they are, friends) bring up one point I can no longer deny: It's time to pick a side against the encroaching darkness, and bring a little hope back into this city. I've seen some of my enemy, and all I really know for sure is that something must be done to combat it, and that I can't do much by myself. I need a team, a squad, a home base, someone to watch my back, and I can admit it, someone to give me orders. I'm not exactly good at taking initiative; that's why it's taken so long for me to act in the first place. But I make a damn good second in command, and I'm more useful than I look.

My choices are not simple though. On one hand, I could appeal to a kingpin of crime who protects the city out of what is probably predator instinct more than anything else. After all, when you've worked so hard to get all of Chicago under your thumb, it's unlikely you'll give it up so easily. I guess, anyway; I've never actually conquered a city. Gentleman Marcone has, however. A professional criminal and good at it from what I hear, anyone on skid row knows who he is, where to find him, and why it's always a good idea not to. I have enough connections in the gutter there to find him fairly quickly. Nobody seems to notice the poor, the homeless, the broken hearted, the broken-down, but if they've been on the streets for more than a week on this town, they obviously know something about how to avoid trouble, supernatural or otherwise. Besides, you'd be surprised how loyal they can be. I know people who I can rely on who have nothing to their name than letters that form it, and they know they can trust me as well.

But that's not the point. The point is, finding him is easy. There's more to the problem than that. See, I would have to show him that hiring me or whatever would be profitable, and that would mean effectively selling my soul to him. While I could do good there, how long would it be before he orders me to do something that goes against my morals? How long until he decides to use my… talents to inspire fear instead of hope? To hurt the city instead of heal it? And would I notice that I'm abandoning my ideals as I rationalize it to death? The bad I would be used for would outweigh the good I could do, and don't think I'm intelligent enough to make the cut anyway. In fact, by considering the option, I'm fairly certain that I'm not.

That's why I found myself walking down the streets of Chicago in the rain towards an old neighborhood on the bad side of town. The rain was soothing, I've always enjoyed a good downpour, and I've got an abnormally strong immune system, in addition to a few other abnormal traits, so I didn't have to worry about getting sick. All in all, I was enjoying the walk. I was headed to where sally, the weathered old prostitute who hangs out near an old bookstore downtown, had said I could find someone who helped people. That bookstore had always set me a little on edge; things that weren't normal were abundant in that area. Wolves don't live in big towns like Chicago, and yet at all hours of the night, snarls and growls permeate the night in that area. And that little book store thrives quietly regardless, or maybe even because of, the things that howl in the night. I wonder what I'd have to do to get a wolf bodyguard. In these days, Seems like it'd be handy to know one. Still, poor sally keeps to her beat, and she says she likes it near there. I hoped she had enough sense to get out of this rain, but sadly, she's not too reasonable when it comes to the chance of an opportunity. Besides, she always said, "the cold nights are the nights people want company." And maybe there's something to that.

As I walked I scanned all around me, keeping an eye out for all movement, looking past the rain with ease. Nobody else was on this street, which was to be expected. Even in Chicago, there are places nobody sane goes at night alone. Which I suppose is exactly what I was doing. Hmm. As I began to wonder about my own personal sanity, I heard a defiant but clearly female shout, followed by a crash of broken glass. Sounded to me like either I'd found what I had come looking for, or that someone needed help. Regardless, I knew my peaceful walk was over as I yanked my hands out of my pockets and ran towards the sound.

…

That's it for this chapter; I'm looking forward to writing more to this. But I'm lazy and distractible, so if you want more, you'll have to hound me. I'll get around to it eventually, but reminding me'd get it done much faster.


	2. Chapter 2

Hello peoples! Yeah, I'm back, sorry for the wait. I'm flushed with ideas about what to do with my character here, and I had trouble pinning which one I wanted to use down. But I got it figured out, so here we go! Again, if you have any ideas or constructive criticism, I'd love to hear it. Props to the who for pointing out that I'd completely avoided describing my main character! This chapter should fix that.

…

I remember very clearly thinking that I was an idiot as I turned the corner. As the old saying goes, "fools rush in." But I turned the corner anyway, and I was surprised at what I saw.

That's not to say I was surprised at the Ogre (or whatever the appropriate name for the enormous grey mountain of flesh) that was erupting from the wall of the building, no, monsters like that were actually becoming less and less subtle these days. I also wasn't surprised to see that he was mad. Heck, I wasn't even surprised that he was using a -most likely now broken- photo copier as an impromptu club.

No, the surprise was at the ogre's foe. A small, tiny even, itsy-bitsy blonde was firing a pistol at the beast; defiance and rage clear on her face. Her hair had been cut short, recently in fact, but that didn't really take much away from her femininity. But despite gender or size, this woman –Relatively young too, as far as I thought heroes went- was holding her own remarkably well. She smoothly dodged, rolled, and otherwise slipped away from the ogre as he smashed, crashed and made a general racket at her. She was clearly in control of the situation, but I didn't see her winning regardless. She was probably taken by surprise, or else she was new at this; you don't go in against something like that thing with nothing more than a pistol. Then again, that was exactly what I was planning to do. Only I didn't have a pistol, and I think it's fair to say I lacked her graceful, smooth dodging skills.

Again, I want it very clearly said: I am an idiot.

But that all registered fairly dimly in me. All I saw was a big ol' bully, and I didn't really like it. I was a real small kid, and I think it was the size of the people that picked on me that sets me off nowadays. This wasn't even fair, and I intended to even the odds a bit. Running at full speed towards the ogre, I jumped, higher than a normal human could, and I thrust my knee firmly into the things elbow. Well, assuming an ogre's arm joint is actually called an elbow. I think I missed that anatomy class.

Again, the details of the situation only dimly registered. Looking back, I remember the surprise on her face showing through her eyes widening and her flinching back another step. I remember the sound of the ogre's elbow-joint-thing snapping, similar to a rotten tree branch snapping. Albeit a fairly _thick_, _gross_, _meaty_ rotten tree branch, but a rotten tree branch all the same. I remember the feeling of the ogre's roar in my bones, and thankfully it was raining, so the spittle he sent my way barely registered at all.

I kicked off the base of his neck, only narrowly avoiding the falling photo-copier that was now crashing onto his head, no longer supported by both of his arms. I really hope she remembers how awesome that moment was more than she remembers me falling all but flat on my face as I landed.

Standing after falling in a totally grace-less manner, I heard a single gunshot, and, looking up, I saw her holding a smoking pistol barrel to his temple, or at least where it's temple would be. It was chilling actually, to see the beast fall to the ground with a hole through his head, her standing still as a statue for a split second, before turning the gun and aiming it at me.

Yeah, that'll wake a guy up for sure, now won't it?

I raised my hands to the level of my eyes in the universal sign of "holy crap please don't shoot me I surrender," palms facing her, not daring to move even an inch as I watched her decide whether or not I was a threat.

Okay, I don't look like much normally, I can admit that. I've got black hair, I've got blue eyes, my nose has never been broken, I'm about six feet tall, I'm built like a cross country runner, because in a way, that's what I do. Well, as cross country as you can in Chicago, anyway. My hair is cut simply above my eyebrows, which have never been burnt off, and I was wearing jeans, and a t-shirt covered by my favorite windbreaker. I tried my best not to stand out by dressing simply, by cutting my hair a fair amount, and by looking all around non-threatening.

But I guess the whole "un-assuming normal guy" effect is ruined when you leap about 20 feet to snap an ogre's knee in a feat of super-human strength. So much for subtlety, but eh, I never really was a fan of subtlety anyway.

"Okay, I'll bite. Who the hell are you, and what the fuck do you want?" she asked coolly, holding the gun steadily aimed at me. I noticed that her finger was still on the trigger. Okay, note to self, no sudden moves. "Uh, I the hell am called Art, and I the fuck was actually looking for someone matching your description?" I said, trying my level best to try and defuse the situation with a bit of humor.

Bad decision, I'd say. She frowned in fury, and I watched a remarkable display of self-control on her part, as she made the conscious decision to not shoot me then and there.

"Look, 'art'" she said, making sure that I knew she was mocking me by raising her eyebrows at the name, "since you obviously don't know who I am or what the hell just happened to this town, I'm going to clue you in, but listen, because I'm only going to say this once. It is way too soon for there to be another wise ass in my life. Consider yourself warned. Now why the hell are you looking for someone like me?" she asked.

I was doing my best not to shake, but damn, I'm no hero. I act on instinct, and I have a serious fight or flight instinct. Heh, you'll get the joke there later. Anyway, I was itching to run away, to, in the immortal words of Gandalf, "fly, you fool" but I'd already made my choice. I swallowed, hoping the gulp sound wasn't audible over the sound of the rain. "S-sorry, I didn't mean to… um. Anyway, I was looking for you because someone I trust said you were the person to go to once I was tired of standing on the sidelines." I felt my voice stop wavering as I remembered why I'd made the choice in the first place. "There is too much stupid evil in this town, and I'm sick of it. That said, I need help to change things, and I'm told you're really good at that. Helping people that is. Although I'm sure you're good at changing things too." What can I say, I babble when I'm tense. And I just so happen to get tense when people point guns at me.

She frowned, and I assumed she was mulling something over. "So what are you?" she asked, probably referring to the leap-knee-ogre-breakage. "Um, well that's a reasonable question, but it's a hard one to answer." "Why am I not surprised. And why is it so hard to answer?" she asked calmly, control clear in her eyes. She stood in a way that clearly proclaimed, 'I control this situation, and there isn't a damn thing you can do about it.' I shook my head as I felt a headache approaching with the pain set on high.

"It's a hard question to answer because frankly, I'm not entirely sure what I am."

…

How's THAT for a cliffhanger! Ha! I hope I did her right, if it's not obvious that it's supposed to be Murphy, than I've gotta scrap it and try again or something. But anyway, I think I know what I want this character to be like, I've got it all planned out now. Magnificent, all I have to do now is put it on paper and pray it doesn't get mangled in translation from brain to type!


	3. Chapter 3

Well, I've found myself in another mess.

I hadn't really started my evening planning on being held at gunpoint by an adorable little death machine, next to the rotting hill of grey ogre carcass, in the rain, but I suppose things just sort of worked out that way.

"Well, get talking. I don't exactly have all night, although I suppose my evening did just get a bit more interesting." She said out of the corner of her mouth, muttering to herself more than me, it seemed. She's stressed, then, which makes two of us. I don't like telling people about myself, but I didn't really see much option here, seeing as I came here intending to join her team? Help her out? Jeez, that's assuming a lot. Oy, I hadn't really thought this through very well. Still, I'd decided, and I'd rather not back down now.

"Okay, easy now. I'll explain, but you might not believe me."

"Try me."

Well um. Where to start?

"Well, first off, I'm not entirely human, which I'm sure you've guessed, due to the whole knee to ogre elbow thing," I said, receiving a snort from my captor "but you um, obviously know that there's inhuman junk running around, I guess." I said, glancing to the ogre body. She rolled her eyes and made a sort of 'get on with it' gesture with her gun barrel. "I uh, don't suppose we could, um, not do this whole 'interrogation scene' in the rain, please? And if I promise not to um, try anything, I guess, can I please put down my arms?" I asked, wiggling my fingers a little bit to emphasize their proximity to my ears. She snorted again, a very masculine sound, actually. Sort of contrasted with the outward appearance of the little lady, but by now I know very well that outward appearances mean fairly little. "How about a cup of coffee? My treat…" I said, my voice trailing off hopefully.

She clenched her jaw, and a tense moment passed, an _uncomfortable _tense moment, before she sighed, looked unbelievably tired for about half a second, before lowering her gun. "Fine, but I pick the place, and I'm watching you. If you so much as twitch an eyelid in a threatening manner, I swear to god I will gut you like a fish." I would have smiled, if I wasn't deeply afraid of this tiny, blonde, adorable wrecking machine. Hey, she executed an ogre. An ogre that was like, 3 times bigger than I was, and about 6 times as mean, and she did it like it was nothing. I think some healthy fear was warranted.

She led me to this little bar not too far away, a nice little place, one I'd somehow never noticed before. It was the kind of bar you walked down into, which was a little unsettling to me personally, but I can ignore a mild case of claustrophobia on top of everything else. Don't want to make a bad impression, heh.

The bar had a low ceiling, with a lazy fan spinning right as you entered. I felt a little bit like I would need to duck here, but I knew that if I did, it wouldn't be long before those walls started to close in, and I'd be gasping in a corner. I stood up tall, refusing to give my quirks, my fears, my idiosyncrasies a single inch.

This made it hurt just a little more than it would have otherwise, as I hit my forehead on a rotating fan-blade. Luckily it was an old wood model, not an industrious steel type, so instead of a terrible gash or a deep cut or something I just got a bruise for my trouble.

"awww, ow." I muttered to myself, rubbing my forehead and bending my knees a _little bit,_ not too much or anything. I wasn't crawling or anything. I wrinkled my nose to avoid grinning in response to the disparaging look the little woman gave me, before rolling her eyes and walking to the bar. Hey, little woman. Until she tells me otherwise, I hereby label her "badass Jo." But only in my head. I'm not suicidal enough to call her that to her face.

"Hey Mac. Do you sell coffee?" she asked the bartender, a bald man who _really _pulled of the bald look well. He grunted at badass Jo, reaching beneath the bar and producing to cups of coffee, steaming and fully prepared. How'd he know what she was going to order? Hell, she hadn't even seemed to know that he sold it at all!

But badass Jo looked grateful, and not in the least bit surprised. "You're an angel Mac." She said, grinning at him, before wiping it off her face as she turned, brushed past me and walked to a table in the back, hesitating, and picking a different one. That's sort of weird… but oh well, everyone's got little issues, like how I twitch every time anyone says "angel." But we're about to get to that.

She sat down with the coffee while I payed. Money wasn't super tight or anything, but I still got a little thrill when I heard his price. I'll just say it beats star bucks by about half the price. I followed badass Jo to the table and sat across from her, thanking her as she passed the coffee to me.

She looked at me for a moment, while I examined the able we were sitting at very closely. Mahogany. Good wood, good name for a band. "All right, you're clearly terrified of me." She stated without preamble. "This isn't how I should be going about this. After all, you _did _help me out there. Let's start over. Hi there, I'm lieutena- err, sergeant Karrin Murphy, S.I. and you are?" she said with a polite smile. It was easier to talk to. Sergeant, so she's a cop. That actually explained quite a bit. "Heh, I can get behind a fresh start. Hi there Miss Karrin, I'm Artanas, but most people call me art, and that's how I like it." She kept that smile on her face, giving me an impression that it was a fake one, a fake smile she wore often. Eh, I choose to ignore that it was fake. "Okay art, howsabout telling me what you are and where you come from?"

I scratched the back of my head nervously. I don't tell people about myself, as a rule. If knowledge is power, then I'd rather not supply the knife that ends up in my back. But I'm here to build bridges after all, so the trust train has to start somewhere.

"Well, first off, you've got to understand that I had a pretty crappy childhood, what with my earliest memories in a lab. Actually, have you ever read the maximum ride series?" she raised an eyebrow. "When I was about twelve or so. They've been out for a while now. Didn't really stick around till the end of it, why?" I grimaced briefly. "Well, because it's very similar to that. I was never in a dog crate or anything though. No, I was important enough to get my very own prison cell. Scientists sure know how to make a guy feel special and appreciated, now don't they? Poking, prodding, needles, syringes, treadmills, dumbbells, endless testing, forever puzzles…" I said, not really realizing my voice was trailing off as I slowly descended into memories, terrible memories. *memories of the past. It's over now, does nobody any good to dwell on It.* I thought to myself, shaking my head. "Anyways, that's where the similarities ended. In the max books, a man in a coat kidnaps them, well, re-kidnaps them I guess, and sets them into freedom. That wasn't my fate. I was kept in my cell under strict guard, until I was about 15, when they ran out of funding. Turns out maniacal laughter doesn't pay the bills quite like it used to or something. Once they realized there was no money in examining me, they set me free, unceremoniously kicking me out of the only life I'd ever known, and disappearing. Believe me, I looked for them, but I never really found anything solid. Only rumors and what-not." I said.

She frowned as she listened. Once I was done, she calmly stated, "you have told me nothing about how you did what you did, nor why you where there in the first place." Oops. "Oh, um, well you see, you remember how I said I wasn't wholly human?" she nodded, cop face firmly in place. Jeez, she thinks I'm crazy. Heck, wouldn't really surprise me to find out that I am, I suppose. "Well I was still not wholly human ever since I can remember. You see, the boys in the lab weren't what made me what I am. And before you ask, what I am is stronger than your average bear, faster than your average tiger, and so on. I could flip a car if I needed to, but I try to avoid it if I haven't stretched first. Talk about your pulled muscles." She nodded with a calculating look on her face.

I got the feeling that if I hadn't kicked an ogre hard enough to shatter his elbow right in front of her; I doubted she'd even consider what I was saying. As it was, I still had one ace in the hole to prove myself. "And also, I share one more similarity with the maximum ride gang…" I said, glancing around to see the bar. Nobody was around, what with the bartender having gone into some hidden storeroom or something. "May I show you?" I asked politely. She nodded, but I noticed her hands move towards her gun a little bit. Oh yeah, surprising her, bad. Sudden moves = no no. I stood up at a measured pace, not too quickly, but trying not to be slow enough to make her suspect anything. I lifted my shirt off of my shoulders, revealing my smooth chest. Closing my eyes, I relaxed…

And extended my wings.

…

Yep, mentioning maximum ride in the first place probably gave it away. I like the idea of the character, but I'm saying it now, in this universe here, maximum and her gang are strictly fictional. I have no plans on introducing a max\art crossover thingy. Partially because she and Murphy wouldn't get along very well, but also because dealing with isolation, being the only one of his kind is something I want to flesh out with this guy. I think it's gonna be fun on a bun introducing him to butters, specifically. Then I can flesh out the details of anatomy and whatnot. Still open to suggestions, critiques, anything like that. You got something to say, I'm all ears.


End file.
